


Metatarsalgia

by Violsva



Category: Den lille Havfrue | The Little Mermaid - Hans Christian Andersen, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid, Angst, Gen, M/M, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/Violsva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of him is screaming to run, to dive back into the water and try to find home, but he knows that will not work. He has no choice, now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Metatarsalgia

**Author's Note:**

> For the Watson's Woes [July Writing Prompt #26](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/1169285.html).

Every step is like walking on knives.

He had not realized just how important feet were. He had thought of them like fins – necessary, of course, but not for every individual movement. But as soon as he staggers to standing he falls again, and at last he crawls onto shore on his knees.

Once there he explores his new anatomy more carefully, the flex of muscles and bend of new joints. His feet cause him no pain as long as they are not supporting his weight. He can even stand, if he stays perfectly still. But whenever he tries more, if he does not lose his balance as soon as he takes one foot off the ground, the pain makes him fall as fast as his lack of coordination.

He shoves himself to the side of a large rock, and sits slumped against it. This is all too much, too new. He must think of a way to get a hold of himself before -

A landman comes up the beach. The right landman, even.

He sees Sherlock at once, and veers towards him. Sherlock jumps to stand up, staggers, and leans against the boulder.

“Hello?” says the landman. John Watson, he had called himself.

“John,” says Sherlock, and his lips move soundlessly around empty air.

The landman – the _man_ , Sherlock is a landman now as well – stops a few feet away from him. “Who are you?” he asks. “Have we met?”

He doesn’t recognize him. Sherlock stares.

“Are you all right?” Sherlock shakes his head. He was wrong. How could he be wrong?

“Of course you’re not. I’m sorry. Were you in a shipwreck? Terrible storm last night.”

Sherlock shakes his head again.

“Are you sure? Were you hit on the head? I was, a month ago, and I don’t remember anything that happened before I washed up on shore.” He mistakes the meaning of Sherlock’s horrified look. “It’s not that bad for most people. Where are you from?”

Sherlock shakes his head again, that seeming to be all he can do. Watson frowns. “Can you speak?”

At last a useful question, not that he can reply to it any more clearly. “Not at all?” Watson asks. Sherlock shakes his head again.

“I’m so sorry,” says Watson. “Here, come up to the village and we’ll see if anyone can help you. You look familiar to me, someone must know you. I’m John Watson.” He shrugs off his coat. “Put this on. I’ve more clothes you can borrow at home.”

Sherlock pulls it on awkwardly and wraps it around himself. Part of him is screaming to run, to dive back into the water and try to find home, but he knows that will not work. He has no choice, now. He is here, tailless, on land, and Watson does not remember him.

Watson reaches out a hand, and he takes it. Then Watson steps back, and in following him Sherlock abruptly remembers his feet. He gasps with pain.

“You’re injured,” says Watson. “Here, let me see, I’m a surgeon.” Sherlock shakes his head, but Watson kneels and carefully palpates Sherlock’s extended leg. For him, it is familiar, normal – an object of study only when functioning improperly. For Sherlock it is foreign, and beginning to look more and more like a mistake.

“Nothing seems to be wrong,” says Watson, standing again, and Sherlock very carefully hides his wince as he lowers his foot again. “All right to walk for a while?”

Sherlock nods, and leans on Watson’s offered arm. Watson leads him uphill, away from the sea, and Sherlock keeps all traces of pain from his movements.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Reconsolidation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7707076) by [Violsva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/Violsva)




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